


Blind Faith

by kaiz



Series: Retraining of Lucifer [3]
Category: Brimstone
Genre: D/s, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-06
Updated: 1999-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiz/pseuds/kaiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Devil pushes Zeke too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Faith

"Open your eyes and look at me, Morning Star."

A stinging slap across my face accompanied his cold demand. Flat on my back, bound hand and foot to the rickety bed frame, I forced my eyes open and stared up at him. Fully clothed, he straddled my naked hips and fastened two bright clips on my nipples. I gasped as the cold metal pinched.

"Remember where you are!"

Hot breath caressed my lips, his sensual mouth inches from my own.

"Remember who I am!"

And my eyes watered from the force of his second slap.

Anger and pain forced my attention back to the present, away from the seductive call of passionate ancient imagery and sensation: His Essence commingled with mine, the sweet music, the echo of our shared cries against the vault of heaven.

*

_Before the Fall..._

Side by side, we walked through the lush garden. The original, albeit metaphorical, Forest Primeval. An oasis of green in the seething, lightning-struck caldron that was Earth in those days. After a lengthy absence from heaven, He'd finally brought me here to show off His latest creations. I'd heard of His plans, but had yet to see their actual rendering.

"So, Luciel. What do you think?" His sweeping gesture included the deep green grasses, bright flowers and the glittering stream that wove between the trunks of fruit-heavy trees.

The surging tide of his voice, its undercurrent dark with barely restrained power shivered through me; warned me that, regardless of my true opinion, I'd be wise to answer to His satisfaction.

"Beautiful," I murmured, relieved that I was honestly enjoying the rich scents and vistas offered by His garden paradise. The mellow hum of bees and locusts blended with the fragrance of flowers and vegetation, creating an atmosphere of ripe expectancy.

Kneeling beneath an enormous oak, He tickled a fat red squirrel under its chin, "Did you notice the beasts?"

I nodded, "I did, indeed. Magnificent." And so they were: graceful deer and elk, proud wolves and tigers, aloof eagles and hawks.

"I call it Eden." He smiled and the glow of His satisfaction warmed me vicariously, intimately with its flames. How I had missed His capricious smile, the uneasy fire of His company.

"Look here, Luciel. Come see what else I have made!"

And for hours, He dragged me through the forest, eagerly pointing out the stunning variety of plants and wildlife. The sun had long since passed midday and slipped towards the horizon by the time He drew me into a small glade and proudly showed me His final creation.

Puzzled, I stared at the slack-jawed, bipedal creatures. Although physically, they bore a superficial resemblance to Him, my brothers and me, quite honestly I'd found the wolves and deer to be more aesthetically pleasing.

Unthinkingly, I blurted, "They appear to be nothing more than beasts!" Exquisitely wrought, true, but beasts none the less. I braced for his displeasure.

"For now, perhaps." His look was darkly reproachful. "But I plan to give them souls."

I blinked. Surprised. Outraged. And frightened. "Souls?" He thought to create them in our image?

"Yes souls!" His greater Voice was distant thunder, shaking leaves and fruit from the nearby trees. Standing at dusk, looking at these creatures, imagining them with souls, I felt a sudden premonitory, cold dread.

And I couldn't help my protest, my outrage, "But - "

"- But, of course, none of that is none your concern, Luciel," He completed my sentence dismissively, with deliberate cruelty. Grabbing my chin, He forced me to meet His eyes. "I brought you here merely as a courtesy. Nothing more."

Nothing more. No. I suppose it wasn't my concern, but it hurt all the same. First-born and First-loved, I deserved better than His casual indifference. Anger and jealousy spiked my belly. I thought I kept it from my face.

He saw it anyway, of course.

The grip on my chin slipped down my throat and tightened painfully. Rough bark scratched between my shoulder blades, along the ridges of my wings, forcing them apart as he slammed me against a towering redwood. Pain flashed as the delicate bones crunched.

"I see you need a reminder of your proper place in the order of the universe, Luciel." His tone was thoughtful. Amused. Implacable.

I thrilled - with pain, fear and excitement - to the threat in His Voice. Underneath it all was petty triumph: Ignore me, would He? I think not.

Upon entering the Garden, we'd each condensed, solidified to avoid disturbing the Earth with the force of our spirits' vibration. However, in the face of His anger and amusement, His dark lust, an icy fear, bitter arousal and sharp anticipation rippled through me, shredding my control. And suddenly, I could feel the raging chaos of the Void ripping the skin from my limbs, dissolving my borrowed bones, unsinging my physical cohesion.

Beneath our feet, the earth buckled and tilted, tree roots ripping free like writhing serpents. The mindless Humans in the clearing howled in fear. I would have as well, could I have drawn breath to do so.

His Voice was flat and harsh, "Cease this!" But my control was in tatters.

He seized me then, ruthlessly, brutally resheathing me in physicality. A single sharp Word and I was bound, enraged and helpless. Hideous memory flared and I recalled the last time I'd been bound into Form like this: grounded like a wing-clipped hawk; a wolf caught in a trap, willing to gnaw off its leg to escape. He'd trapped me in flesh on a disintegrating island on a far-flung planet. The molten lava had burned the flesh from my bones, smothered my anguished screams in flames. Burning, always burning.

"Please - " I rasped, Voice thin and shaking. Those memories were still too close, too vivid. Perhaps I had pushed Him too far. His Presence flared brilliantly, blindingly, and I could no longer look at Him or discern His features.

"Please what, Luciel?" The scent of crushed grass and fertile loam filled my nostrils he threw me face first to the torn earth, knee resting in the small of my back. My body's erect cock was pressed hard into the earth and I moaned, pain and pleasure combined.

The flaming ends of His hair lashed my face as He bent close to whisper. "'Please stop'? Or 'Please don't stop'?" I was seared by His acid sarcasm.

My breath caught as He flipped my to my back and I stared at his cold, set expression. The pain of my bent, broken wing was nauseating.

"Spread your legs!"

The world stilled, birds and insects falling silent, and my raging anger was extinguished by the force of His command, to be replaced by escalating terror and unwilling arousal.

Another sharp Word and the ground shuddered, groaning. Quiescent tree roots rose from the earth, like kraken, and wrapped around my widely splayed limbs.

"You serve me, Luciel!"

Though I was bound to Form, He was not, and fierce, demanding tendrils of Spirit dove beneath my shivering skin, raked along my bones, clenched my faltering heart in an ectoplasmic fist.

"Remember that!"

"Yes, Master!" Gasping for breath, mouth filled with dirt and grass and debris, I yielded. "I will remember!"

"See that you do, Luciel," His seeking fingers traced an internal path up my spine, painting each vertebra with searing heat, painfully mending and unmending the fractured bones and torn tissues. "Despite your woeful lack of discipline, you do appear to have *some* common sense."

And then, with only the flash of His eyes as warning, His unrelenting Force pierced me, forced me open, body and soul - hideously intimate and unbearably pleasurable. Made me ready to receive Him.

Eyes watering, body shaking with need and fear, I screamed as He knelt and thrust His flaming sword between my legs, pressing my will, my very self aside. Dominating me so exquisitely, so thoroughly, an agony and ecstasy combined; hellish pleasure and divine pain. His joyous, darkly satisfied Voice echoed off the vault of the heavens, shredding the clouds.

Lightning and venomous thunder rolled over us and through the garden then, shaking the flowering trees and showering our thrashing limbs with fragrant blossoms. And at the edge of the glade, the naked, foolish Humans crouched in the undergrowth, witness to my abject, willing humiliation.

Once, He'd been gentle. Or at least pretended to be. And once, long ago, I'd been more than a servant, a slave. Once.

But now, painfully flayed and trembling, bound in the grass in His garden, pierced and bleeding, torn by His passion yet sheltered by His overwhelming Presence, I didn't care.

I could bear His wrath, but not His indifference.

*

My fingers and palms burned, then went numb as Ezekiel leaned heavily upon my wrists, bending close to whisper fiercely in my ear.

"Focus, Morning Star!"

Anger and pain forced my attention back to the present, away from the seductive call of passionate ancient imagery and sensation. The Garden's thick jungle air yielded to dry, stale Southern Californian smog. Freshly turned earth shifted to a too-soft mattress. The sharp tang of ozone from primeval lightning became faint cigarette smoke, permeating the carpets, the drapes, the ratty bedspread. And rough, twisted tree roots uncrooked to become padded leather and metal cuffs.

Licking dry lips, I struggled to focus on his hands, his voice. It was through distraction and lack of discipline that I found myself here at all. If I hadn't come to taunt and punish him after his latest, inconvenient display of compassion for one of my fugitives... If I hadn't carefully, ruthlessly pushed him beyond reason with viscous innuendo about his beloved widow... If only.

Inciting to riot is a specialty of mine, though I have no excuse this time, except that over the millennia, fear and bitterness have become very old friends.

Ezekiel leaned back, sliding down my body between my spread legs, then jerked the chain on the nipple clamps sharply. Had the slack in my bonds had allowed it, I would have writhed uncontrollably. He seemed just as satisfied with my involuntary hoarse shout.

"Here, you belong to *me*, not to *Him*! A hand slipped beneath me, curved around my ass cheek and patted once, suggestively. Twice, threateningly. "Need I remind you?"

I retained enough presence of mind to shake my head firmly, "No!" I would not be humiliated, reduced to tears again by the paltry discipline of his naked hand.

The bed shifted as he moved away and I stared at the ceiling, at the room's far corner, clinging desperately to my human form. Trying not to imagine the meaning of the sounds he made rummaging in the bedside drawer, the dry whisper of cloth against flesh. Pretending that I didn't know what would come next. I would not humiliate myself further by losing control.

Face turned to the side, I sensed his return to the bed. And then I screamed aloud, helplessly, hopelessly, as his hands stroked my sweaty flesh; as strong, knowing fingers pulled on my erect cock roughly, probed my tight, dry anus, ruthlessly.

"Open yourself to me!"

His sharp words cut, even as his fingers twisted deep, opening, stretching, preparing me. Turning to look at his cold, set face, I lay trembling, awash in a nauseating tide of violent lust, submission, rage and bitter disappointment.

I'd always known that it would come to this, that he would one day forcibly take me, in fury. Coercive and cruel. A combination I'd known intimately before.

I push too hard; I always have.

Ezekiel's indifferent expression didn't waver, but he paused, as if he'd heard my thoughts, fingers stilling inside me. "Have a little faith, Luciel. Trust me." The loving undercurrent in his rough, raw-silk voice confused and surprised me, loosened the aching knot that lay beneath my breast bone.

Faith. Indeed. Something I lost long ago in the fresh dirt of the Garden, on the shores of a newly born Earth.

"Close your eyes."

And my eyes closed. Why, I don't fully understand. Perhaps it was just easy to give him what he asked for. My Ezekiel. A passionate, loving man who'd made the eternally fatal error of not 'leaving vengeance to the Lord'. Or perhaps it was bitter resignation, a yielding to the inevitability of violence. Perhaps it was just a stubborn refusal to admit, to show that he'd broken me, broken my faith. That this love was as hopeless as the One before it.

Blind, trembling, my fists clenched as I felt him shift over me. Making ready to thrust into my tight, dry ass, no doubt.

"Faith, Morning Star..."

His soft lips brushed against mine then and found myself unexpectedly sinking into tight, slick heat. My eyes flashed open and I gasped breathlessly. Above me, naked, eyes dark with lust, sunlight burnishing the ends of his hair, Ezekiel lowered himself onto my cock.

"Oh!" I cried softly in surprise as he rocked slowly down my rigid length, settling in the cradle of my hips, taking me deep.

"Mmmm." His hum was pure smug satisfaction, though I was far too stunned and pleased to be irritated. He flexed internal muscles around me and sensual flames streamed down my cock and into my belly. Pausing to coil around my tailbone, they spiraled up my spine to the crown of my head, incinerating all rational thought.

"Ezekiel. Please release me," I moaned, aching to pull him down to me, to hold him, to ravage his mouth with kisses.

"No, Luciel," His smile was deliciously wicked. "Lie there and take it." A tug on the nipple clamps ripped a hoarse shout from my throat.

Unbidden, my eyes closed tight against the wanton image he presented: lips swollen, sandy hair disheveled, lust-darkened eyes gleaming, cock drooling wet upon my belly. I struggled helplessly against my bonds, desperate to move deeper into his tight heat.

"Be still," he commanded. I shook with the effort to comply.

And then, he leaned forward, capturing my lips with his, plunged his slick tongue deep and slowly fucked himself on my cock.

With my eyes closed, every other sense came vividly alive. His lush moans and sighs. The tight, slick heat of my cock in his ass, the slide of his sweaty skin against mine. The fierce press of his weight across my hips and on my shoulders where his fingers clenched tightly, leaving bruises. His lingering taste on my ravaged lips and tongue.

Each new sensation teased the scarlet flames of my arousal higher. Until I arrived at the pinnacle, orgasm's precipice, struggling not to fall, not to disappoint him with my permaturely spent lust.

"Let go, Luciel," his whisper was tender, soft. "Come for me."

His cry mingled with my own as I released deep into him, filling him with my passion. And the warmth of his own slicked my belly, claiming me.

*

Late afternoon sunlight streamed though the open window and I could hear the sound of cars and pedestrians on the street below. There were many things I needed to attend to: sinners to torment, would-be sinners to whom to give a little *push* in the right direction. Instead, I lay here in this dingy room, neglecting my duties, shamelessly enjoying the sunlight and his company.

How did he always know what to say, to do? How did he unfailingly manage to rip the truth from eyes, my voice, my passion? How did he know I expected his violence, his indifference, his rage. I thought I had better control than that.

I could have taken the answer from his mind, but for some reason, I chose to ask instead. "How did you know?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "You chose me because of my skills, Morning Star." His chuckle rumbled beneath my ear. "I've spent years reading people, reading between the lines. Yours are old, but still readable."

Arrogant bastard.

"Trust me," he said, absently soothing my annoyance with finger tips across my still-sensitive nipples. "Everything will be just fine," he continued conversationally, "after I break you of the bad habits you've developed over the years. Millennia. Whatever."

Outrage warred with lassitude over his casual claim. "Just remember, Ezekiel," I reminded him darkly. "You work for me!" The statement would have been more impressive, convincing had my passion-roughened voice not broken on his name. Had I not been curled limply in his embrace, the runes on his shoulder hot against my cheek.

"*You* may own my soul, Morning Star, but *I* own your heart." His dark words, whispered fiercely, wet and warm, past my ear were at odds with the gentle fingers threaded through my hair, the sweet kiss upon my cheek. "Now close your eyes. And shut up."

Sometimes, the depth to which he understands me leaves me breathless.

A worthy adversary and lover, indeed.

And lying in the sunlight scattered upon the bed, held in his arms, I closed my eyes and acknowledged his victory. And my own.

_Finis._

**Author's Note:**

> This series features domination, submission, discipline, and blasphemy. Each was written for 'First Line' challenges on the slashkink mailing list. Thanks to Astareth for the beta, story written for Rosa upon request! :-)


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